Slow procession

Saturday: the low-magnitude hangover that is this bug lingers. You wake up grotty. Creep inoffensively through the day. Go to bed feeling like someone who’s done a triathlon followed by 80 minutes front row against the All Blacks.  

Work on the project report during the afternoon. Dinner at a diner in the Pontcanna cafe strip. In bed read almost the whole first page of Marilynne Robinson’s Home before system shutdown.


Slow procession

along the pavement, two pairs of people each

one big plus one small

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